I See A King Before Me
by Ecri
Summary: After the Battle of Helm's Deep, Aragorn begins to have doubts. Legolas is by his side to offer help and perspective.


**I See a King Before Me**

**by Ecri**

**Author's note: This draws maginally on my previous stories Fight the Fall and Keeping to the Road. It is NOT necessary to have read those stories. This can stand alone. **

Aragorn watched from horseback, sword in hand and dripping black blood, as the last of the orcs and Uruk-Hai were either slain or fled the battleground only to be intercepted by the trees. That the fleeing hordes met a much crueler end in the depths of that wood than any who had fallen in battle was certain, as was the knowledge that those trees had earned the right to exact what revenge they would.

Aragorn surveyed the field of battle, and the elation he'd felt evaporated. Any feelings of success brought about by what had to be considered a victory were immediately crushed at the sight of the carnage that was Helm's Deep. He turned in his saddle, selfishly searching for his own friends among the survivors. He caught site of Gandalf immediately, his white robes catching the blaze of the sun and setting a slight glow about the Wizard.

He saw Gimli next. The dwarf was just pulling his axe free of an orc corpse that seemed reluctant to release the blade from its stomach. He smiled slightly at the curses the dwarf loosed until the axe slipped free sending him falling backwards to land hard on his backside.

His eyes then scanned the immediate area searching for his best friend, sure the elf would not be far from the dwarf. Seeing no immediate sign of Legolas, his heart skipped a beat.

He searched his mind for the last time he'd seen the elf, but as he had ridden in the first rank of defenders, he had not seen Legolas since they had departed the Hornburg upon horseback. His brow furrowed in concern and concentration. He saw a flash of blond hair and relief flooded him only to be changed to fear when he realized it was another elf and not the one he sought. He scanned the crowd, and, spotting a flash of blond hair buried beneath a pile of orc bodies thought for a moment it was his friend, but this, too, was another elf. Growing more frantic and not especially concerned with concealing it, he urged his horse slightly away from the crowd to a point where he could more easily survey the battleground.

Still finding no sign of his dear friend, Aragorn leaped from Hasufel's back and began to search among the survivors and the dead alike.

It was only when he was fast approaching that precise moment of emotional turmoil where he would be forced to race through the field screaming Legolas' name that he caught sight of the elf. The relief that flooded through him as the anxiety and fear drained from his body almost made him dizzy.

He had for a time thought Legolas had…he could not bring himself to think it willingly! Before now, he had not seriously thought that he might lose his friend on this quest. He had grown so accustomed to the idea that he was mortal and would therefore die first, sparing himself the anguish of mourning his closest family and friends, that the idea that Legolas might be slain was more shocking to him than learning his own true identity had been. Oh, he knew an elf could be killed or die of grief. How could he not know it? Celebrian, Lord Elrond's own wife had sailed to the Undying Lands in a desperate attempt to stave off such a death. Legolas' own grandfather had died in the Last Great Alliance of Elves and Men—an alliance that echoed here in the battle scarred grounds of Helm's Deep. To have that echo underscored with the death of King Oropher's grandson would have been too much for Aragorn's human heart.

He had been aware of the possibility, but had never seriously entertained the notion that it could in fact come to pass…that Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir…

He shook these things off unwilling to wallow any longer in the fear and sorrow that had gripped his heart for the last few moments and made his life seem unbearable.

Now, seeing Legolas greet Gimli and Gandalf, he felt relief wash over him until he saw the sorrow and grief visible on his friend's fair face even from here. Aragorn realized he might yet lose his friend to elven grief.

Nay! He would not think it! Legolas was strong. He would not perish. He would not give in to grief. Aragorn's thoughts betrayed him then, teasing him with visions of what his life would be like if he succeeded in this quest and yet lost his dearest friend. He could not rule Gondor without being able to rely upon his friend's counsel! He could not face the long years of his life without Legolas there to offer advice, camaraderie, or a moment of mischievous fun!

Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he patted Hasufel and led the horse after him as he joined Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas. Legolas stared at him strangely when Aragorn gripped his arm tightly in greeting, and Aragorn cursed himself for not hiding his feelings more carefully.

The Future King turned then to Gandalf. "Your arrival was timely, Gandalf, for we could not have held out much longer."

"So Gimli and Legolas were saying. I am only pleased that Eomer was not so far distant that we could not reach you in time." Gandalf smiled easily.

"We have much to do, Aragorn." Legolas whispered his eyes still on the dead and dying. "They will have need of your skills."

Aragorn knew Legolas spoke of the healing skills Elrond had passed to him. Nodding, he mounted again and rode back to the stronghold searching for Eowyn who would surely have taken charge of the wounded.

Aragorn moved from pallet to pallet helping the wounded where he could. There were so many children here, and it sickened him to think that so many had been forced into battle. Perhaps Legolas had been right when he had insisted that there were too many who had seen too few winters.

Of course, to Legolas, all present had seen too few winters.

Aragorn wondered if he was doing any good when he lost yet another patient to a severe gash in the stomach. The blood loss had been too great, and the man gasped out his last with no one beside him but a stranger. Aragorn closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer to the Valar, but, in truth, he felt no better for it.

Looking around the room, Aragorn saw Eowyn mixing more of the healing herbs they would need. Moving to her side he offered his assistance.

"Is there naught I can do for you? You look in need of rest yourself, My Lady."

"I am not your Lady, and as for rest, of the two of us, you seem more in need of it than I." She handed him half her herbs, and her voice softened slightly. "But you are as unlikely to rest as I."

He smiled at her ignoring her gruff words. "That is true." He caught her wrist as she moved to leave him. "You are as skilled in these Healing Halls as you are with a blade."

"Both skills are needed in times of war."

He stared at her as she moved quickly away from him. Why was she so hostile? He had meant to compliment her. He sensed she had feelings for him, but she knew of Arwen. Was she hurt that he had, in essence, rejected her?

Aragorn pushed such thoughts far from him. He had not the strength to deal with such emotions, and even if he had, it felt wrong somehow to concern himself with such things in the presence of so many who had made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of their people. "You are right…Eowyn…" Since she had rejected his use of the term 'My Lady', he used her name instead of any other appellation he might have considered in other circumstances. "But you will do none of them much good if you pass out from exhaustion."

To his surprise, she whirled around to face him, her face red and her eyes blazing. "And is it because of my gender that you presume I will pass out? The weaker sex…is it because of an accident of birth that you presume I will be less able to handle myself?"

He took a step back as surprised by this as he had been surprised by her blade work before the battle. Holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, he shook his head. "Nay. I meant only to offer a chance of rest. If you have no need of it, I will not press the point. I have often found it necessary in the past to coax companions into taking what rest they require. It is habit that led me to cajole you so. Forgive me, for I meant no offense."

Her anger apparently spent, Eowyn had the grace to look chagrined. "No offense was taken…or at least none that you need apologize for. I am…perhaps…wearier than I had thought or I would not have found barbs in words meant only in kindness."

Aragorn smiled at her and nodded. "Whenever you have need of rest, my la…Eowyn…please take it. For the sake of those you treat…and of those whose heads you might inadvertently slice from their shoulders!" He moved off then, taking the herbs she'd given him and helping those still in need of treatment.

Legolas searched the battleground for his own people. The Elves of Lorien may not have been his father's subjects, but they were kith and kin. Excusing himself from the Wizard and the dwarf he approached Ceredlir, Haldir's second in command. The two greeted each other warmly, for they had become friends during Legolas' recent stay in Lothlorien with the Fellowship. Recent? To Legolas it seemed a lifetime distant.

"Ceredlir, I offer my help to you and your battalion."

Ceredlir looked startled. "Nay! You cannot. It is you who must order us! I could not give orders to a Prince!"

Legolas smiled. "I am a Prince of Mirkwood, not of Lothlorien or Rivendell." He gestured to the elves of both those realms who comprised the group of archers. "We have much to do, my friend. Let us not become entangled with titles."

Reluctantly, Ceredlir and the others worked side by side with the Prince until they found Haldir's body.

Aragorn was amazed at all that had happened. The elves who had perished in the battle were rising again. He stared at the recovering men and elves lying on the beds Eowyn had procured from somewhere. It was an astonishing thing that they had not all perished before Gandalf had ridden forth with Eomer's éored. It was more astonishing still that Haldir lived, and that, somehow, Legolas had managed not to be killed by that grieving man in the sick room. Aragorn had also learned that Gandalf had somehow eased Legolas' pain and grief, though how he had done it, the Wizard would not say.

The Ranger watched the men being cared for, but he lacked the strength now to continue aiding them. He had sat down mere moments before, and his legs now seemed locked in position with the muscles throbbing and twitching as though he had run several miles. He realized then that he had been awake for far too many consecutive hours.

As he wondered if he should force himself to his feet and find somewhere to sleep or merely nap here on this stool, he saw Legolas approach.

"My friend, you need sleep." The elf said without preamble.

"Astute observation, Legolas, but my legs refuse to stand."

Legolas grinned at the man. "Well, then your legs require assistance!" He took the man's arm and levered him from his seat, shushing his protests the entire time. "Come, _mellonin_. You must find rest."

Together they made their way down the hall and Aragorn was astonished to find a room somewhat less chaotic than the one they'd just left. Legolas gestured to the far wall where Gimli waited for them. To Aragorn's shock, the elf and dwarf had set up a pallet for him complete with blanket and pillow.

Gimli gestured at it with pride. "There! Not fit for a King, perhaps, but comfortable and dry."

"No man would turn his nose up at this, King or no! Thank you my friends." Aragorn eased his aching, stiffening body down to the pallet.

"Rest, _mellonin_," Legolas whispered. "I will wake you when you are needed."

Aragorn didn't bother to argue, and in moments was fast asleep.

Gimli watched the man sleep, turning once or twice to see Legolas lost in his elven thoughts. Gimli hoped he was doing enough to keep the elf from grief. Legolas had come to mean a great deal to him and he wondered at that. When they had first met, all those months ago in Rivendell, Gimli had hated him. He had seen the elf as he saw moist elves: arrogant, irritating, condescending, and lordly. Elves, especially Mirkwood elves, were not to be trusted, and he had said as much at Elrond's Council.

When, he wondered, had that changed for him?

The dwarf reviewed the moments of their journey in his mind. From Rivendell to Moria he and Legolas had not got on at all.

He looked again at Legolas and realized that somewhere between Moria and Helm's Deep…nay, that wasn't right. Somewhere between the Gandalf's fall in Moria and the day they had left Lothlorien, he had begun to care for this elf, like he cared for no other friend he had ever had.

The elf, however, noticed his glances, and would speak of it. So be it! Gimli gave as good as he got in any exchange of witticism. Allowing the elf to persuade him to rest, he settled down to do just that. His search for sleep could not deny his restless mind, however, and he found his thoughts turning to Aragorn.

Aragorn, he too was a friend the dwarf had not counted on making. When he had first laid eyes upon the man at the council, he had thought Aragorn was no more than a Ranger. That he had an elf defending him hadn't raised Gimli's estimation of the man. Hearing the man was rightful heir to the Throne of Gondor hadn't meant much to Gimli, either. What matter were the problems of men to a dwarf? His anger at the upstart elf had prompted him to promise aid to the hobbit, and that's what he'd intended on giving. If he had to keep company with men and elves, he'd have to deal with it.

It wasn't until well on their road that Gimli had begun to notice Aragorn's skills. Tracker, healer, hunter, there seemed no end to what the Ranger could do. By the time Boromir died and the threesome had vowed to trail Merry and Pippin, Gimli had realized that the elf had been right. This was no mere Ranger. This was a King among men.

He laughed at himself softly as he settled down to sleep. Friends with a man and an elf! He chuckled again to himself at the absurdity of the idea, yet, at the same time, he knew that it felt right. These were friendships he would cherish until the end of his days.

Legolas felt Gimli's eyes on him as the dwarf glanced again in his direction. He had the feeling his dwarven friend had been keeping an eye on him recently, and he wasn't sure how he should feel about that. He trusted the dwarf with his very life, and, more importantly, with Aragorn's. He knew he could depend on the dwarf with matters of war, of peace, of good cheer, and of bad, but these constant furtive glances were beginning to wear thin.

When he felt the dwarf's eyes on him again, he turned towards him suppressing a smile when his sudden attention caused Gimli to jump slightly. "You should get some rest yourself, _elvellon_. You have not had a good night's sleep in at least as long as Aragorn."

The dwarf grunted. "And what of you, my friend? Surely you need rest as well."

"I am an elf! I require less sleep than you do."

"And that is your answer for everything! 'I am an elf! I do not need food!' 'I am an elf! I do not need sleep!' 'I am an elf! I do not need air to breathe!' You try my patience, Legolas!" The dwarf put on his best, most intimidating dwarvish glare.

"Your patience is almost nonexistent, my friend, so for me to try it takes very little!" He laughed at the indignation on Gimli's face. Then he sobered wishing his friend would understand his earlier words. "Peace, friend Gimli! I mean no harm, but you should rest while you may, for there will be much to do on the morrow."

Gruffly, unwilling to admit that he was in need of rest, Gimli grumbled. "I will take some rest then, for your sake, Master Elf!"

Legolas smiled. "That is kind of you!"

In moments, Legolas heard only Gimli's snoring. Smiling again, he allowed his mind to drift thinking a light elven sleep might aid him in sorting his thoughts, for they were many and chaotic of late, and he could not deal with the press of them while trying to assure Gimli he was well.

His thoughts drifted now to what he had seen here at Helm's Deep. He recalled his despair before the battle, and his argument with Aragorn over it. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Aragorn when he had tried to apologize to the Ranger for his outburst. Aragorn, Eru bless him, had insisted there had been nothing to forgive though Legolas still felt he was being kind.

The battle had been bloody. It would have been lost entirely had Gandalf not arrived with Eomer's éored. Had the Wizard been just a little later, he would have come upon a much different scene.

Legolas recalled then the events in the healing rooms to which he had been an unwilling participant. The man in the room where the injured were tended had touched Legolas heart. He had asked important questions, but the elf had no answers. There was too much death. Too much blood spilled. He knew there would be more such nights before Aragorn could take his rightful place as King of Gondor…before the Enemy was defeated.

_If_ the Enemy was defeated. His thoughts turned to Sam and Frodo, and his heart quailed at the image of them facing the might of Mordor alone. He knew Sam would never abandon Frodo, but he also knew the power of the One Ring. Frodo would be changed by this quest. He hated to think of it, but the Hobbit bore a weight that would have crushed most mortals…and most elves.

Thoughts of these two hobbits inevitably drew his mind towards the other two. Gandalf had assured the Three Hunters that Merry and Pippin were well, but he had not elaborated. Legolas could not help but wonder how they fared and what they were up to. He didn't believe they would long stay out of trouble, and he feared, if they were still in Fangorn, or nearby, that they could well end up in the path of Isengard's army.

This war had barely begun, and already the battles seemed…

Legolas cut his thoughts. Speculations were not helping him find rest. Indeed, the only thing he had found was that he could not stay here! He felt as though the stone walls were closing in on him turning his thoughts black. Rising, he stepped softly from the room, careful not to wake his friends.

Legolas crept silently to the halls of healing intending to look in on the injured elves before heading up once more to the battlements to take in the cooling night air and the sight of the stars. As he entered, he had to halt his hastening steps to keep from colliding with Eomer as he left the rooms.

Eomer, clearly surprised to be bumping into the elf, stumbled over his greeting. "Oh…hello…I…" He smiled. "Forgive me, I was checking on some of my men."

"As I was about to do myself. Are they well?"

"They are healing. We were blessed to have one so skilled as Aragorn with us."

Legolas nodded. "He learned the healing arts from Lord Elrond of Rivendell, but it is his heritage itself that gives him the hands of a healer."

Eomer had been told much about Aragorn on the ride to Helm's Deep. "Aragorn…he is truly the King of Gondor?"

"He is indeed Son of Arathorn, and Isildur's heir." Legolas was proud of his friend, but unsure if Eomer meant to challenge Aragorn's claim as Boromir had at Elrond's council. To Legolas' surprise, Eomer only nodded thoughtfully.

"He wears the manner and authority of a King."

A bright smile lit the elf's fair features. He had finally met a man who saw what he thought so obvious. "That he does."

"I will try to persuade my uncle so. He worries so much for his people, I fear he is not open to…new ideas." Eomer sighed. "Still, it is better to have him back as he is now, then to have him as Wormtongue and Saruman would have him."

"The Shadow draws many into its embrace." Legolas replied, thinking of the wizened old man who had transformed into the much younger and less infirm King as Gandalf cast out Saruman's influence. "But the light of Hope can banish its influence." Legolas knew the man could not know he spoke of Estel…of Aragorn, but he thought, perhaps, the man would guess.

Eomer merely nodded, and, pleading fatigue after a long ride and an intense battle, left to see to his own rest.

Legolas watched him go before entering the room and checking on the elves, grateful beyond words that he hadn't had to oversee any elvish funerals.

Aragorn awoke, startled from his sleep by a dream he could not remember. His heart pounded as though he'd run to the top of Mount Doom. He glanced around the darkened room, surprised to find that only Gimli slept nearby. Wondering where Legolas had gone, Aragorn rose and slipped from the chamber.

He wasn't really searching for the elf, but he clung to the excuse in case he came upon someone, like Gandalf, who would insist he should be sleeping. Aragorn didn't comb the halls with no direction. He knew where he wanted to go.

Reaching the Battlements, he closed his eyes and inhaled the clear night air. He hadn't realized how stifling the air inside the fortress had grown until he felt the slight breeze upon his flushed cheeks.

He walked out to the stone walls and sat as his eyes searched the sky. He was pleased to see the stars shone clearly in a cloudless night, and, of their own accord, his eyes sought Eärendil. Elrond's father…his own many-times great grandfather…Aragorn stared at the light as it twinkled and his heart, troubled by formless dream, was heavy.

This quest had gone astray, and no matter how often or how keenly he examined the events since the Fellowship had left Rivendell, he was sure only that any successes he had enjoyed had been largely caused by luck or the grace of Iluvatar.

Frodo and Sam wandered Mordor alone and without aid or defenses. Merry and Pippin, though Gandalf assured him they were well, had been abducted by Uruk-Hai, and, in the end, Aragorn could not save them. Boromir was dead. His heart ached at that thought, knowing from experience with Gondor's Steward how Denethor would take the loss.

Gimli and Legolas, while still alive, were brought closer to peril the longer they stayed by his side. It was, after all, his choices that had led them to the Battle of Helm's Deep. On the walk from Edoras to Helm's Deep, he'd been fearful when he'd seen Gimli, pinned beneath a warg, nearly killed by an approaching orc. Later, he had seen Gimli thrown brutally to the ground in the battle for Helm's Deep, and he had feared the worst.

How he could have broken the news of the dwarf's death to Legolas was something Aragorn hoped never to discover.

That the dwarf and the elf had become such friends in so short a time did nothing short of astonish Aragorn. The Ranger had known Legolas for a long time, and he opened up to few even of his own kind. Aragorn had always assumed it was because of Legolas' position as Prince of Mirkwood, a title he did not relish. The friends he did have he had known for most of his long life.

Gimli, being a dwarf and the son of a particular dwarf who held a grudge against Legolas' father, had not been the most likely candidate among the Fellowship to become the elf's friend. Aragorn hoped only that both would outlive him for the loss of either would be a blow that he doubted he would survive.

He recalled his earlier fears when he'd thought Legolas had perished. The thought had been his reality for several minutes and it had nearly crippled him. How Legolas had dealt with his own presumed death, Argorn could not begin to understand. The elf could appear stoic if he so desired, but the relief and joy on his face—and especially in his eyes—when Aragorn had arrived at Helm's Deep belying reports of his own death, had been obvious.

They had said little to each other at the time, and, Aragorn was sure, any outsiders who witnessed the reunion would have assumed they were acquaintances and not the closest of friends. This only proved that appearances were perhaps more deceptive than Sauron himself. Aragorn knew Legolas would have said more if the emotion of it had not been too much for his tenderhearted friend.

Aragorn shook his head to clear his mind. The emotion of those few moments when he had presumed Legolas dead had nearly been too much for him. If it had been true, or if it had lasted but a while longer, Aragorn was not certain he would not have gone mad.

With a jolt he realized dreams had awakened him earlier and the images of them assaulted him. Visions of the Battle of Helm's Deep had changed as only nightmare images can. Instead of Haldir's death, he had held a dying Legolas in his arms. The Elf Prince had spoken to him of destiny and Numenor, but he had in the end taken one last shuddering breath while orcs and Uruk-Hai laughed at the elf's downfall. Recalling that image, Aragorn did not wonder that he had awoke so abruptly, nor that he had buried the recollection of such a dream.

In the dream, he had turned to Elrond for consolation, only to watch his father die from a blow by an orc blade. _Elves should not have been here, _a voice had told him, though he knew not whose it was. _Elves should not die for you._

The voice was right. Elves should not die for him. Elves should not die.

Arwen would die.

He shuddered at the thought, and though he had been brave enough to say to Elrond that Arwen loved him and should stay with him, he knew he was lying to himself.

He often told himself he would never lose his brothers, his father, or his best friend, because he was convinced he would pass beyond Middle-earth first. That had been enough. Until now. It was the thought of Arwen's death that he found most painful. Even were he to go first, she would follow. He could not ask it of her. He could not allow her to give up everything for him!

Closing his eyes, Aragorn allowed his own griefs and uncertainties to wash over him. The turmoil had been building for some time, and now it grew beyond his control. Seeking control he could not find Aragorn looked up into the night sky once more thinking solace might linger in the stars.

Eärendil shone brightly on the field of battle and Aragorn breathed deeply, feeling his anxieties drain away until he was almost numb.

"It calms the heart and mind, does it not?" A soft voice asked from nearby.

Though he had not expected it, it did not startle him. He offered a smile to the elf. "Aye, Legolas, that it does."

They sat in silence for a while before Legolas again asked his friend a question. "What troubles you, _mellonin_?"

Aragorn sighed. Keeping secrets from an elf was nearly impossible. He had learned that lesson well when he was growing up. "Two things trouble me, Legolas."

Legolas laughed, the musical sound soothing Aragorn's spirit. "Only two? You amaze me, Estel! We sit above a battlefield, which last hosted death and shadow not a full day past, while inside men and elves recover. A King recently held tight in the grip of Saruman ponders the future of these troops we desperately need in the battle to save all of Middle-earth, and you have but two worries?"

Aragorn smiled, but spoke as though Legolas had not. "Tomorrow there will be many decisions to make. I do not know…"

When he did not continue, Legolas did it for him. "You do not know if your advice will be accepted? You do not know if you will need to part ways with Theoden, for he may choose not to help Gondor?" Legolas rose gracefully from his cross-legged position and moved to Aragorn's side. "The thing you really do not know is if you are ready for this."

Aragorn was silent for a moment, but then shook his head. "No. I do not."

"I do. Aragorn…Estel…you are ready." Legolas' eyes shone with the confidence he felt in this man's future and with the loyalty Aragorn had long inspired in the Elf Prince.

"You sound so sure." Aragorn's tone betrayed the fact that he himself was not.

"I am only as sure of that as I am of my name and my place in Iluvatar's Song." Legolas' voice took on a tone of vehemence Aragorn had only rarely heard from the elf.

"I wish I could be that sure."

"You will be. Until then, I will be sure for you."

Aragorn finally tore his gaze from the stars and looked at his longtime friend. "How did you do it, Legolas?"

"Do what?" The elf asked in obvious confusion.

"When the battle was over, I searched for you. I could not find you. Every glimpse of blond hair or elven clothing caused my breath to catch in my throat, especially when I spied it bloody upon the ground!" His eyes reflected a sorrow and pain Legolas had seen on his friend only when Aragorn's mother had passed, or when he visited her grave in Imladris. I thought you dead for minutes at best. You thought me dead for much longer."

Legolas placed a hand on his friend's arm as if in sympathy for the man's ordeal. "I am sorry you thought me dead, _mellonin_. I did not know. I am well! Do not let…"

"Nay, Legolas! Do not! I see you before me. I know you are well, but…the feeling…" He shook his head and looked away, closing his eyes as though shielding them from view would also shield his heart.

"It does not diminish. It lingers in your mind tormenting you when you close your eyes." Legolas voice was soft and reflected the pain Aragorn spoke of.

Aragorn looked at him shock giving way to understanding. "You carry it with you still…the way you felt when you thought me dead?"

"Estel, I hold onto it with both hands, for I know it will happen one day, and, if I am not prepared, the sorrow _will_ take me." Aragorn opened his mouth to object to such a thought, but Legolas raised a hand staying his words. "I know this to be true. It would be too much for me to bear." He looked up at the stars, and the frown he wore became the slightest of smiles as though the very stars gave hope and took sorrow. "It is the only way I know to prepare, though Gandalf bid me not dwell on it." He considered the Wizard's words once more. "I do not believe I dwell on it, but if I were to forget it completely—if an elf can ever do such a thing!—I believe it would double when…when you leave the bonds of Middle-earth. Whether I have heard the call of the sea or not, when you leave Middle-earth, I will sail to Valinor."

Aragorn stared at his friend, unwilling to bear the responsibility of such devotion, and would have spoken of it further had he not seen the dangerous glint in Legolas' eye. This would bear no further discussion tonight. He would have to speak of it another time.

Nodding to show he understood, Aragorn spoke of other things. "Legolas, I have born loss before, but the thought of losing you…or Arwen…or Ada, Elladan, or Elrohir…" He shook his head as though shaking away the thoughts.

Legolas stepped closer and put a hand lightly on Aragorn's chest over his heart. "You are not alone, Aragorn. You fear losing them as they fear losing you. It seems we are not so different after all. We have been injured before Aragorn, both of us and badly. It is no surprise to you that I can be grievously injured. Lord Elrond has often treated me for wounds that were life threatening, but why did you think I had not survived the battle?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I think it was seeing Haldir fall…"

"You did not expect an elf to fall in battle? You have seen it before, have you not? In Mirkwood, we lost several elves when Gollum escaped…"

"I was not there."

"No, but you have been in Mirkwood, sometimes for weeks at a time. You have seen elves slain by orcs. My friend, is it that you thought _I_ could not fall in battle or because you have convinced yourself that I will outlive you?"

Aragorn rose and walked away from the elf wondering what it was that had startled him. Perhaps it was as Legolas suggested. Perhaps he had tried to assure himself that losing Legolas was a pain he would never have to endure so he could bear the other losses in his life. Then, being confronted with the real possibility of losing him…Aragorn turned back to Legolas. "I think you are right. I did not want to admit that you might fall in battle, for if you were to fall…especially in this war, then I do not know if I could bear the guilt."

"Guilt? Why would you feel guilt if I were to fall? Estel, elves, like men, fall in battle."

"You fight this battle for _me_! You are here for _me_!"

"I am here because the Fellowship…"

Aragorn cut him off. "You joined the Fellowship for me!"

"Are you certain?" Legolas asked not unkindly. "I joined for many reasons, _mellonin,_ and though I will admit that you were one of those reasons, I must tell you that I joined also for Frodo, for Mirkwood, and because I go where the Blessed Music of Iluvatar leads me."

Aragorn walked towards his friend. "Well spoken, but I would still feel responsible."

"You must not, Aragorn! I am responsible for my own life!"

"Would you be here if I were not?" Aragorn raised his voice.

"What?"

"Would you be here, at Helm's Deep preparing to ride into battle for Gondor, a land far to the south of your home, if I were not."

Legolas seemed puzzled. "I would likely still have joined the Fellowship."

"Answer the question!" Aragorn could see how startled Legolas was by his vehemence. He himself had not expected to be so…loud…but he had to know, and would not be put off.

Legolas looked away for a moment as though he needed to break away from Aragorn in order to consider the words properly. "Not even the wisest of us can see all ends. You ask if circumstances were not what they are, would I still be here. How am I to answer such a thing? I would have joined the Fellowship had I been in Rivendell when it was formed, for that is what I felt Eru wished me to do. If I had not been in Rivendell…perhaps… then…Ai! Aragorn, what use are such questions! We cannot concern ourselves with speculation!" He took a step or two away and breathed deeply before turning back to his friend.

"Things are as they are. I am here by your side because that is where I choose to be." Legolas' eyes searched his friend's face for some sign of understanding. "You cannot take that choice from me, nor can you presume to take responsibility for the choices I have made!" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I have stood by you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, not because of your name or your destiny, but because of _you_. You are my friend because of the person you are beneath all those names you carry. I will remain by your side. You would do no less for me."

Aragorn stared at Legolas. The Prince of Mirkwood was an elf of few words, and he had rarely heard such a long, impassioned speech from his friend. He was right about one thing, however. Aragorn would do no less. He would remain by Legolas' side in any circumstances. Was it right for him to feel Legolas should not do the same?

Silently, Aragorn stared at the archer who had slain so many orcs in defense of a people he did not know. Legolas' commitment to him was complete. His commitment to Frodo was no less, but it was his commitment to Middle-earth, to all that Iluvatar had created, from which all other commitments stemmed.

An abrupt clarity hit the Numenorean, and with a suddenness that astonished him, he felt a connection he had not felt before. He was playing a part he was destined to play. Lord Elrond was right. Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen…even Gandalf…they had all been right. He was not a single man. He was the latest link in a long chain. He was the embodiment of all those of his line that had come before him, and, while he feared being too like Isildur, he had forgotten that he also had the blood of Elros within him.

His friends were with him. They had lasted the night, and he had neither the right nor the power to drive them away, as he had neither the right nor the power to send Arwen away.

He looked again at Eärendil and a small smile crossed his lips. He turned to Legolas.

"I do not know what to say."

"Then say nothing, Estel."

"No, wait, I have just thought of something."

Legolas arched one eyebrow.

"_Hannon le_, _mellonin_."

Legolas smiled. "You are most welcome, Estel."

Legolas breathed deeply of the crisp night air relieved that it was less thick and acrid than it had been in the height of battle, and recalling the sweet smell and cool kiss of the breeze Gandalf had conjured recently to ease an ailing elf's wounded spirit. He knew Aragorn now suffered the same weariness and grief that he did, and he wanted desperately to help.

Usually, he forced himself not to think about his friend's mortality. Legolas was sometimes able to convince himself that Aragorn would live forever, for the man seemed so full of life and passion that imagining him as still as death was difficult.

Sometimes, however, it was all too easy. When he'd thought Aragorn had plunged over the edge of a cliff, it had been a simple thing to imagine his body broken and bleeding and breathing its last. That the river had apparently taken his body had not lessened the grief…indeed, it had heightened it, for Legolas had seen Aragorn in many life threatening conditions and his imagination was more than able to supply information reality had seen fit to withhold.

He closed his eyes briefly as the horrific images flashed through his mind. He knew they would haunt him now for all the rest of his days even if Aragorn died a peaceful death a hundred years from now.

He shook off the thoughts and looked at Aragorn. He was still as the stone upon which he sat as he allowed the cool night air to revive him. The momentary peace of Helm's Deep did much to dispel the memory of battle for both of them, Legolas was sure.

As he watched his Numenorean friend he noticed something no human eye would have seen. The light of Eärendil touched Aragorn's face and almost Legolas could see an elven quality to the light. It lent an almost elven glow to Aragorn's feartures. He knew not what thoughts Aragorn chased around his mind, but he saw acceptance. He saw strength. He saw a resolve he had seen before in Aragorn's eyes when the man was faced with some obstacle, but this seemed like so much more.

Legolas had seen much of Middle-earth, and most in the company of this man, this human of elvish descent…this man he chose to call brother. He knew Aragorn well. As well as the man would allow anyone to know him, but Legolas was an elf, and an elf could sense change. Here was change. In the place of the Ranger he had known for more than 70 years, the boy he had watched become a man, he saw a man embracing his destiny.

Perhaps the light of Eärendil had made the change more noticeable. Perhaps this battle had shown Aragorn what Middle-earth faced. Perhaps Eru himself had lessened his doubts.

Whatever the reason, Aragorn shone in the night like a beacon of Hope.

Aragorn turned to face him then. "You stare, Legolas. Why? I am well."

Raw emotion kept the elf from replying right away. He closed his eyes for a moment, and, when he opened them, he saw Aragorn resplendent in dignity and nobility.

Aragorn took a step closer to his friend, concern etched into his features. "Legolas? What is it, _mellonin_?"

When Legolas spoke, his voice was a whisper, husky with emotion. "I see a King before me."

Aragorn frowned at the words, but the frown quickly faded. Smiling, he reached out to place a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Whatever you see you helped me to become, _mellonin_, and, with you, Legolas, I will always be Estel."

Legolas smiled. He had vowed long ago to see this man reclaim his birthright. He had not dreamed how quickly the time would pass.

"Estel…We have always called you the Hope of Man, but perhaps we should have called you the Hope of All."

Aragorn laughed. It was a hearty laugh and it brought another smile to Legolas' face. The man his friend had been before this night would have challenged such an assertion. Many times he had done just that and downplayed his own importance or objected to the notion that there was anything at all special about him.

Change claimed his friend this night. The slow alterations that time wrought upon Middle-earth were something elves usually found to be cause for sorrow, but this one change was something that Legolas accepted easily.

_No matter what happens from this point forward_, Legolas thought_, I have fulfilled my wish to see Aragorn claim his throne._ In truth, Legolas knew this to be true. No matter that most of Gondor did not yet know who he was, this night, in the witness of an elven prince, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Estel Elrondion, had claimed his birthright in his heart.

_Met (End)_


End file.
